


like shooting stars

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Bravery, F/F, New York, Singing, Standing Up To Evil Music Executives, music business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana wishes that she could go back to singing about the woman she loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like shooting stars

It’s a recording studio, but there’s no recording going on. The booth is empty, lights switched off. Instead, there are men and women in suits, surrounding Santana, examining her.

 

Santana has a folder of her songs tucked under her arm, and she’s trying to project an aura of cool indifference, showing that she’s not intimidated by these music masterminds. They’re scrutinizing her silently (judgementally), though, and it’s hard not feel at least slightly self-conscious under their steady, unwavering gaze.

 

“I’ve written a few songs already,” she says, gesturing to her folder. “I thought, maybe, I could sing you some…”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” a man with a disdainful expression replies arrogantly. “In fact, your songs won’t be necessary at all. We already prepared some to fit with your image.”

 

“My _image_?” Santana demands.

 

Half an hour passes, and she feels more and more uncomfortable by the minute. They’re casting her as the ‘Bad Girl’, as if this is some movie where people fit under clichés, where they can be sorted into labelled boxes and shipped off to sing. It’s like a trip back to High School: Her image is supposed to be the bitchy slut, a different guy every night—leather jackets and short skirts. She doesn’t mind wearing those sorts of clothes, or being a bitch (it’s what she is anyway, why change that?)

 

It’s that all of her songs were about Brittany.

 

Brittany, who won’t understand why Santana can’t just be herself. To be honest, Santana doesn’t understand, either.

 

This all started a few months ago, when Brittany moved to New York, and Santana was finally faced with the fact that she’d have to pay for her own place, and that she’d have to get a job. She didn’t want to serve coffee or food to strangers—and she’d have lashed out at their incessant idiocy eventually—so she just stood outside and sang every day, with a hat in front of her, for people to drop money in.

 

She earned quite a lot, actually. She sang a mixture of original songs and covers of more well known ones, and she even got Kurt and Rachel to join her a few times.

 

That was where they found her. Music company executives; what were the chances? She couldn’t believe her luck when they arranged a meeting with her.

 

But now here she is, and they’re telling her who she has to be if she wants to be famous. Telling her what she’ll sing, how she’ll dress, what she’ll hide. She isn’t ashamed of Brittany, and she despises the undertone of this conversation: That maybe she _should_ be. To them, she’s a blank canvas on which to impose their idea of the perfect popstar. She’s not human. She’s just a voice.

 

“No,” she says suddenly, startling them out of their private, whispered discussion, away from her prying ears.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not ashamed of who I am,” she continues. “I used to be, and I used to do what you’re trying to make me do now. But not anymore. If you want to help me fulfil my dream on my terms, without deception or ‘public personas’, then I’ll be happy to co-operate. But I sing what I feel. I sing for my girlfriend, and I sing for myself. Not for you, or for any record company.”

 

They look stunned, but they don’t speak.

 

She walks out.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave feedback <3


End file.
